White Rabbit
by JinnyTheGreat
Summary: It was 1967 with the war in Vietnam raging on, the boys of Company B needed to escape reality. Patching up bullet wounds, Bonnie "Alice" Brighton was able to provide them just that, an escape in the form of a little drug called marijuana, but who was she really? What happens when she catches the attention of one Staff Sergeant Barnes? Was it too late for him to be saved? Barnes/OC
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: The characters from Platoon belong to their creators, I only own Bonnie.**

 **Author's Note: This story is going to deal with some sensitive topics(such as drug use) and will probably contain some racists terms, it can't be helped. If I want to stay true to the atmosphere of Vietnam, they're going to be used. I hope you enjoy it.**

 **June, 1967:**

Drugs in 'Nam weren't hard to find, specifically marijuana. It was sold on every street corner disguised as a carton of American cigarettes like Camels or Marlboro, but to find the good stuff you had to ask Alice. Rumors flew inside the Army camp packed from one end to the other with the boys from the 25th Infantry Regiment that Alice was a French prostitute left behind once the French Garrison deserted the godforsaken jungles of Vietnam. Supposedly she killed two Viet Cong with her bare hands by luring them into a brothel.

Some called her the White Rabbit, some of the new guys called her baby, but they only made the mistake once. The rest just settled with Alice since no one dared to called her Bonnie. Her fierce nature made her protective, not only of the men from Company B, but also of herself. Staff Sergeant Robert N. Barnes had never laid eyes on a woman like her in his life until his umpteenth rotation into the jungle in April of '67. For as long as he'd been a soldier no one had the balls big enough to disobey him, except for this gypsy woman. A thorn in his side she might have been, but life without her in Hell would've been impossible.

Bonnie "Alice" Brighton had been on her own since she was seventeen. An American citizen alone in a war-torn nation with a communist regime so strong they destroyed anyone or anything that stood in their way. Including her parents. Her father had been a traveling doctor, delivering what medical care he could to third world countries in Asia when he met her mother, Jacqueline Mercier. Once she was born, the two decided to stay and carried on his work throughout the country. Her father refused to abandon the people he cared for, standing his ground in front of the Vietnamese.

She supposedly took refuge in an abandoned French whorehouse before the Americans made their grand arrival in '65, making a simple living in the nearby village by helping with the sick children and delivering babies. They paid her what they could until she stumbled upon the miracle drug of marijuana that grew everywhere in the vast open fields, it was just as easy to come by as rice. Once the American military began building their camps, before their nurses arrived, she tended to the wounded. Though her story changed from soldier to soldier. No one really knew the truth.

Across the base, the lights were out but the muffled twang of Merle Haggard crept through the window of a nearby hooch, which Bonnie knew could only belong to her good friend Bunny. The wooden shacks, also known as hooches, were large enough to fit around twelve soldiers each. Bunny bunked with the rest of his squad such O'Neil, Barnes, and the other "lifers." The ones who chose this life over whatever struggle they came from.

The walls of the hooch were decorated with Confederate flags, windows were lined with strings of Christmas lights, candles burned on the various shelves which were littered with empty beer cans and a few liquor bottles. Scattered across the floor were Vinyl covers, crinkled up Playboy magazines with the covers ripped off and hung on the walls. It was their home away from home, allowing them the space to breathe.

Out of the corner of her eye, Bonnie caught the swift movement of a shadow lurking by the wooden door of the shack. The shuffle of feet could be heard in the still night followed by the metallic clink of a cigarette lighter. Up ahead, the flame illuminated the distinct face of none other than Staff Sergeant Barnes. The darkness hid the profound scars that adorned half of his face.

"What're you doin' up so late, girl?" He drawled, stepping out of the shadows. His piercing gaze drifted over her soft curves and lingered briefly on the hand-me-down olive-drab trousers and scuffed black combat boots. From a glance the uniform looked new and crisp, but up close he noticed the worn knees and how they sat just right on her slender hips. He noted a fading splatter of blood by the front pocket which began to resemble the shade of mud. It had spread into the fiber of the fabric, scrubbing no longer made a difference. The sleeves of her green undershirt were long gone, leaving much of the skin beneath exposed. His dark eyes landed on her copper curls that seemed to burn bright even in the shadows. The tousled locks were held out of her face by a crimson bandana which he immediately knew belonged to Lerner. She had been down with the rest of smokers in the designated head shed.

Like an oracle hidden away in a mountain cave, she could always be found in the stoner's den, a bunker cradled subtly in the corner of the large camp. With the troops came the men who didn't run out to join the war effort, the men who had been drafted. ones who were more interested in the women who hung around on the coattails of the camp and the drugs that ran wild in the streets. They believed the war to be senseless, but the men to their left and right kept them fighting. They just needed to survive thirteen months. Thirteen long months.

"Just takin' a walk, Sarge." Bonnie's voice was cracked and hoarse from exhaustion as well as barking orders at the nurses over the noise of the choppers that carried the wounded. Her words melted together smoothly. Their prior interactions had been short and comprised of conversations about the wellbeing of the men in his platoon. He wasn't much of a talker, though in truth, neither was she but she always noticed the flicker of fear in his eyes when the Medics told him they would do what they could. That the young soldier, fresh in from the world, wasn't likely to make it. That flash of panic when he was told the bullet had punctured the soldier's lung. Then, finally the brief trace of grief when the boy took his last breath. A cold shiver ran down her spine as she noticed the tick in the hard line of his jaw, his intense gaze welded on her. Since her first steps on the base camp, she had never been intimidated by any of the soldiers, not even the grittiest officers except the man towering over her. "What about you?" She responded apprehensively.

The smell of whiskey hung heavy in the air between them as he offered her a cigarette to ease the growing tension. "I don't sleep much," he shrugged his shoulders. "I ain't gonna hurt ya, Red."

Bonnie cocked an eyebrow at the nickname. "Who said you could call me Red?"

"What am I supposed to call ya? Alice?" He took a long swig of Jack Daniels. "Bonnie?"

Bonnie grew silent. "Red works." She took the bottle half full of warm whiskey from his hand, letting it slide like syrup down her throat. "Somethin' you wanted to talk about?"

"Just wonderin' what all the fuss is about. You runnin' around here like ya own the damn place." The words slipped from his lips just as easy as the smoke. He was the man in charge. The top dog. The highest point of the totem pole, at least in his own mind. He snuffed out challenges without lifting the toe of his boot and she was no different. He exuded authority, relishing in the power.

"And what if I do own the place?" She contested, taking a step forward to ensure they were toe-to-toe. Her arms crossed over chest as she suddenly became aware of their close proximity. Her heart pounded in her chest.

Barnes had to hand it her, she wore confidence like a damn medal of honor. "They said you was stubborn." He flicked the butt of his cigarette into a puddle of water by his feet.

"And they told me you were self-righteous." She responded, savoring the last bit of her cigarette. "Looks like they were right."

Self-righteous or not, his loyalty was to his men. Not his country. Not the men in pressed suits who sat up in the White House, watching the atrocities from their comfortable office chairs while the news made them out to be murderers and baby killers. The anti-war movement in the states had grown into a monster. "Looks like it." He huffed, enjoying another mouthful of whiskey. He sloshed the liquid that remained in the bottle. "Ya want it?"

A small smile crept up to her lips. "How 'bout we share it, Sarge?"

"And who said you could call me Sarge?" He asked, amused by her shy grin.

"What am I supposed to call you?" Bonnie leaned back against the sandbags stacked against the side of the shack. "Sergeant? Bob?" She snatched the bottle eagerly from his hand.

"Sarge works just fine." He nodded his head respectfully, lighting another cigarette. The night air was thick and muggy. A sharp breath escaped his lips as he wiped the back of his neck with his green undershirt and tucked it safely into his back pocket. "Hard to find peace and quiet in this damn place." He grumbled as heard the faint sound of machine gun fire far off in the thick canopy.

To Bonnie, the peace and quiet was suspicious. Even if it was quiet in the perimeter, the sound of rounds popping off could be heard in the distance. Sometimes the mortars could be he miles away up by the mountains. After spending years in this place, peace and quiet made her uneasy. "You're right about that." She sighed. As slivers of silver moon beams peeked out from behind the dense cover of clouds, she studied the deep lines of his scars that started above his right eyebrow. Sergeant O'Neil told her he took shrapnel to the face during his first trip into the bush after the Americans invaded _. That shoulda killed him_ , she thought to herself.

"You shoulda seen the other guy." Barnes jested, noticing the flecks of gold in her emerald green eyes as she observed his scars. "Ya know, you seem like an educated girl… What you really doin' here?"

She listened to the rumors, choosing wisely to keep her story to herself. They weren't wrong, not all of them. Her father had been a doctor, but he met her mother in New York after returning from the mess of the second World War. He served four long years as an Army medic in the European theater, saving as many lives as he could. His passion for medicine carried him from place-to-place around the world, but it wasn't until the age of fifteen she had been able to travel with him.

Her family started in the remote islands of the Philippines making their way to Vietnam. They were trapped as soon as they arrived, but that didn't stop her father from trying to save the lives of the innocent. He made arrangements for his wife and teenage daughter to be airlifted out of the country, but the North Vietnamese found them before they even had the chance to pack a bag. She did her best to block out the rest, though she remembered clearly the sight of her parents laying still on the hard ground with eyes open wide with blood trailing across the floor. It stained her hands, her dress and her hands as she tried desperately to shake them awake, but after five years she could hardly remember their faces…

"Same thing you are." She placed the glass bottle carefully in his hand. "Just tryin' to survive." Survival was the primal motivation of all human beings. It was the only thing that kept her going most days, but it wasn't just her survival. She was here to save lives. All she wanted was to make it out of this jungle alive, but do it in such a way she honored her father and his years of hard work. She wasn't a solider nor would she pretend to be. "Have a good night, Barnes." His name rolled off tongue with natural ease. She pushed off the wall of sandbags with a sigh and rendered him a two-finger salute as she worked her way back to across the camp to her makeshift shack. For the first night in almost two years, she relished in the chirping of the crickets drowning out the drone of constant machine gun fire. _This was peace and quiet_ , she thought.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: None of the Platoon characters belong to me. Only Bonnie. The lyrics in this chapter are Somebody to Love by Jefferson Airplane and Ain't Too Proud To Beg by The Temptations.**

 **Author's Note: I've enjoyed writing this so far. I wanted to keep the sinister personality of Barnes, but show him in a different light. I hope you guys enjoy it!**

Bonnie's thick combat boots splashed through the red muck that always came after the storms. The clouds were gracious enough to keep the sun from beating down on the back of her neck, but the heat was stifling. The air was thick and muggy. She could never drink enough water to keep herself hydrated. It was as if her body couldn't keep up, even after five years. Her red curls were pulled into a ponytail at the base of her skull, Lerner's bandana tied tight to keep the stray pieces from escaping. She exhaled a cloud of smoke when a loud whistle sounded from behind her. She stopped in her tracks, whirling around in a rage to see Bunny with his arms crossed over his bare chest.

"She's built like a brick shit house, I'm tellin' ya." She heard him mutter clearly to Barnes and O'Neil. The comments from Bunny were nothing new, but he tried too hard. Poor kid. The bond formed between the two had been instantaneous and they quickly became inseparable. They spent hours sitting out under the moon, just talking about life. She listened to him ramble about his childhood, his love for cars, and his plans after he got the hell out of the jungle. In turn, she told him bloody tales about the wounds she patched up and the kick she got out of the guys asking her to inspect their junk after some romp with a local in the village.

"Yeah, she's a real sight for sore eyes but I bet she'd kick your ass." O'Neil scoffed, flicking the ash from his cigarette. Bonnie never knew what to think of O'Neil. He never left Barnes' side long enough for her to form an opinion, but he always had something to say. About everything.

"It's ain't that difficult." She quipped with a wide grin. "You boys are back early." Apprehension swept over her as she took notice of Barnes' steel blue eyes watching her every move.

"I just missed ya so much, I couldn't stay away!" Bunny opened his arms for a hug, laughing as she dodged out of the way. "C'mon, Al!"

"Maybe after you hit the showers. You smell awful." She laughed with a bright grin. "And you look worse."

"Tell me what ya'd smell like after two weeks out there." Barnes raised an eyebrow, raising a warm beer to his lips. Pain shot through his left shoulder down to the tips of his fingers. He hissed, his fist clenching instinctively. Blood trickled down his bicep to his forearm.

"Better than you, Sarge." She retorted, hands resting on her hips. "Now what the hell is that?!"

"It's just a damn scratch, Red." He grumbled, wiping it away with the bottom of his green undershirt. "I'll live, girl."

"That ain't from a scratch, now let me see it. Don't you know what happens if a fuckin' wound gets infected out here?!" She snapped. "That shit can kill you, Sarge. Just let me take a look at it."

"I think ya made her angry, Bob..." O'Neil chuckled.

"Would ya miss me or somethin'?" He smothered his cigarette with toe of his black boot. He eyed the dusting of freckles that fell across her nose and the few that fell on her lips. The small bit of sunburn was peeling on the tip of her nose, as if she picked at it constantly. A thin layer of sweat glimmered on her tan skin as the harsh sun peeked out from the thick clouds.

"Maybe I would." Bonnie mocked with a wink.

"Well…" O'Neil rubbed the back of his neck as a silence fell over them. "Uh, we gotta get goin', Bob. We got that briefin' from the LT in a few." He clapped Barnes on the shoulder and two headed off in the opposite direction.

"Ain't he a little old for you, Al?" Bunny wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"Hush it, Peter Cottontail." Bonnie rolled her eyes. "He ain't my type anyway."

"So what is your type?" He asked after a moment, a grin tugging on his lips.

"Not you, now crawl back into your rabbit hole." She rolled her eyes and headed back towards the Medical tent, dragging her heavy boots through the mud. This was the first time the two of them had spoken since their last encounter, she did her to keep her distance from the lifers.

* * *

"I never knew you were into redheads, Bob." O'Neil taunted with a sly grin. He never truly understood the platoon's obsession with the broad. Her time was spent with Elias and his group of potheads hunkered down in the drug den. She was just a salesman, trading them a distraction for what little they had anyhow, but over the past few months he realized she was more than that. She was a nurse by trade, but she had become somewhat of a mother figure to many of the boys.

Barnes smirked in response. In truth, he never cared for redheads. Not after his wife left. He always preferred blondes though after years in this shithole, she was a welcome sight, but he didn't give a damn about her looks. There was something about the way she spoke that pulled him in. The immovable, unyielding way she stood toe-to-toe with him, challenging him. Brazen and strong, but vulnerable from carrying years of grief. She was something of an enigma he couldn't wrap his head around.

* * *

"Baaaahhhhh!" Bonnie greeted the men of Elias's squad with a laugh. The pungent aroma of cannabis flooded her senses as she slid down into the dimly lit bunker. She loved the strands of colored Christmas lights that adorned the walls made of old, wooden ammo crates. Candles burned and wax dripped into used, empty beer cans. Rhah sat high upon his throne made of nothing but stacked sandbags. She peered into the hollow eyes of the skull that rested by his left hand. Smoke hung in the air, easily concealing the shameless, lust-filled smirk exchanged between the two.

"Hey there, mama." Rhah patted the empty spot on the sandbags with a wink. "Come sit with Rhah."

King and Lerner were sitting comfortably on the couch next to Rhah, laughing loudly over the music. Bonnie hummed along with the hypnotizing rhythm of Jefferson Airplane as she took the joint from between Lerner's lips. _When the truth is found to be lies and all the joy within you dies, don't you want somebody to love? Don't you need somebody to love? Wouldn't you love somebody to love? You better find somebody to love…_ She took a long hit before passing it back to King.

"Maybe later." Bonnie returned the wink, waving at Elias who was hidden away in his own corner of the den. He was kicked back in his hammock, candles burning around him.

"There she is! There's my Alice!" He chuckled with a crooked grin. Their bond was unlike any other. It was as if someone up above sent him to watch over her. He was warm, familiar. His aura of light beckoned to her, instantly putting her at ease. He reminded her so much of her father. "Smoke?"

"Yes, please." She planted herself on the floor by his hammock, knees pulled up against her chest.

"What's on your mind, little bird?" _Clink._ Elias flipped open his cigarette lighter. "What's going on in that pretty heads of yours?"

"Something just feels off, 'Lias." She sighed, leaning her head back against him as he placed a joint between her lips. "What do you know about Barnes?"

"We don't necessarily see eye-to-eye. Our methods are, uhh…Different." He worked his fingers through her tangled curls. "He givin' you problems?"

Bonnie shook her head, taking one last hit before passing it back to Elias. The tension slowly ebbed with every hit she took. "I just keep seein' him everywhere. O'Neil told me he took shrapnel to the face, is that true?"

Before Elias could respond, Rhah spoke over him. "You two talkin' about Barnes? He's a mean fucker. He's been shot seven times, but all that shit's in the wind, mama."

"It's all in the wind for you, Rhah." She giggled. "We talked the night before y'all went out in the bush… He says I act like I own the damn place."

"He ain't wrong." Rhah bellowed, causing the bunker to erupt in laughter. "Did you remind him who's boss?"

The tune in the hazy, smoke-filled den soon changed to a smooth-sounding Motown jam and Bonnie was pulled to her feet by Elias. Her head was reeling as if she were floating. Rhah led her into middle of the joyous, celebratory circle. She was never sure what there was to celebrate in 'Nam except the fact that there, in that moment, they were living.

 _Ain't too proud to beg, sweet darlin'. Please don't leave me girl, don't you go. Ain't too proud to plead, baby, baby. Please don't leave me, girl, don't you go…_

* * *

Rain pounded relentlessly on the tin roof of Bonnie's hootch as Staff Sergeant Barnes ducked his head to slip under the tarp in the doorway and escape the downpour. The rain in this damn place was nothing like rain in the mountains of Tennessee, it never washed away his sins or righted his many wrongs. With every storm, the grueling rain drowned him in the burden of his decisions and in turn, he drowned himself in a bottle of whiskey. It only grew harder by the day, but he buried the raw emotions to keep them from bubbling to the surface and gasping for help.

"Where the hell is she?" His steps were meticulous as he worked his way around the shack with the full whiskey bottle resting in his large hand. The thin boards creaked noisily under the weight of his heavy combat boots. He checked from the ground up looking for any sign of a threat as if he were raiding a hidden Charlie bunker. A thin wire glimmered in the dim light by the toe of his black boot. _What the hell is this?_ The words echoed in his skull. His steely gaze followed the line from floor to ceiling, noticing a group of tin cans and silver spoons dangling suspiciously above his head. He stepped away from the line carefully.

"Smart girl." He mumbled to himself, examining the knife hidden the cracks of the flimsy floor boards. His fingers ghosted over the blade, impressed by the size and sturdiness. The two of them seemed to have more in common than he ever thought.

His eyes were drawn to the helmet which was hanging from a nail over the untidy cot. Tucked safely inside the band around the cover was an empty pack of Marlboro's, hiding the words _Make Love, Not War_ scrawled neatly in black. The camouflage cover of the helmet resembled his own, well-worn and faded. On the same nail behind it dangled a chain holding a silver peace sign and numerous ID tags. He lifted the chain into his calloused hands, mumbling the names under his breath. Most of them were unfamiliar apart from three of his men. Boys no older than the age of twenty. One of them took a bullet to the lung his second week in the bush while the other two were pinned down by gook machine guns.

A brief pang of guilt washed over him. He did what any good soldier would do and drowned it in a pool of warm whiskey. They were the names of the ones she couldn't save… And neither could he. Carved into the wall behind her were tally marks, counting the days she spent in this hell hole. Many of the marks were beginning to fade, but the newest row started eyelevel as if she had to stand on the rickety cot to carve into the wood.

Next to her bed sat an old record player, like the one the Bunny insisted on using constantly, with various vinyl covers scattered next to it. He recognized Jefferson Airplane, The Rolling Stones, and even Johnny Cash. He nodded in approval and stacked them neatly next to the bed. Out of curiosity, he lifted the edge of dingy, white pillow. A satisfied smirked tugged on the edge of his lips upon finding an unsheathed machete laying on top of what looked like a diary. He skimmed through the frayed pages, catching a line here and there until one page stopped him. The page was smeared with dried blood stains and drops of what looked like whiskey. He took a seat on the edge of the cot and continued to read.

 _January, 1966: I couldn't save him_ , it read. _I let them down. His squad. His platoon. The pieces of shrapnel were buried deep in his chest and stomach. The doc said something about internal bleeding, but I don't know. I tried so hard. Maybe I'm not meant to be here…_

He flipped through page after page, engrossed in her private thoughts. February. March. April. Before he knew it, the whiskey bottle was half empty as he finally reached the last entry. June 5, 1967.

"Musta been interesting, Sarge." A quiet voice sounded from the doorway of the shack. The rain continued to pelt down on the tin roof. Startled by the sudden interruption, he closed the cover of the leather-bound journal.

Barnes cleared his throat, placing the diary back under the dirty pillow. "I didn't even hear ya comin'."

"Hard to hear anything over the rain." Bonnie kicked off her muddy boots, tossing them into the corner by the doorway. "So, you just go around readin' people's private shit?" She was soaked to the bone as she let the tarp fall behind her. She shook the water from ends of her dripping wet mane.

"Maybe you should learn to hide it better." He retorted. "Where you been?"

"I'm afraid that don't concern you, Barnes." Bonnie's green eyes were glassy and bloodshot. "Shouldn't you be playin' cards or jerkin' off? Whatever it is you boys do in there…"

A stiff laugh escaped his lips. "You a comedian now?"

"Sometimes." Bonnie shrugged. She slid out of her sopping wet, muddy trousers and hung them carefully over a clothes line by the door.

His eyes roved over the soft, pale skin of her long legs which never seemed to end. His breath hitched in his throat watching the way her hips swayed as she moved around the room, lighting candles as she went. He knocked back of another shot of Jack Daniels, his grip tightening around the glass bottle. _For once, Bunny was about something,_ he thought.

"Umm, Sarge?" Her voice invaded his train of inappropriate thoughts. "Bob?" The room was silent except for the sound of the slowing rain.

His head snapped in her direction. "What're you goin' on about?" She was now dressed in another clean pair of olive-drab trousers, still worn at the knees. Her green undershirt was cut right above her navel, exposing most her midsection. Her wild, copper curls cascaded over her slender shoulders.

"I asked if it was shrapnel of a bullet... You were bleedin' earlier." Bonnie tapped lightly on a loose wooden floorboard, raising it up to pull out a metal box full of medical supplies.

"I dunno." He spoke up a moment later. "But I told you I'm fine."

"Then what are you doin' here, Barnes?" Bonnie snapped. "You wanna get an infection, that's just fine."

"Fine." He grumbled reluctantly. "Stubborn ass." He lifted the sweat stained green undershirt over his head.

Bonnie quickly adverted her eyes, bringing her lantern up to inspect the angry red gash by his shoulder. "That don't look so good."

"Stitches?" He sighed, glancing up into her green eyes.

"Yup." She replied simply. "I don't have anything to numb ya… It's not gonna feel good. Unless you wanna go have the surgeons look at it."

Barnes shook his head. "Just fuckin' do it."

"I'll try to not enjoy this." Bonnie grinned, taking a sip from his half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels. She poured the last bit of her rubbing alcohol in a small metal bowl. "You ready?" She asked softly, carefully threading her needle.

Barnes nodded in silence, wincing as he felt the needle pierce his tender flesh. After four years in this hell, the twinging pain of a needle was the least of his worries, but this time his mind wasn't focused on the pain. Her nimble fingers worked gracefully over his smooth skin, weather-beaten from his time spent in the sun. He couldn't help but notice how gentle she was. His head reeled from the whiskey, watching her brows furrow in concentration. Her breathing was shallow and slow. A comfortable silence fell over them.

"There ya go. Much better." Bonnie finished dressing the wound, covering it with a layer of gauze. "I'm running low on bandages, but hold on…" She looped Lerner's red bandana under his arm, tying it over the wound. "I'll have some more in the morning. Stop by and I'll change it."

He was surprised by her pleasant tone, brushing his fingers over the bandana. O'Neil was going to have a field day with this one. "Thanks, sug." His words slurred together. By the time she finished, the two of them had killed the last of his whiskey.

A faint smile crossed her lips. "Goodnight, Barnes." She helped him slowly to his feet. His gaze was a glassy pool of gunmetal blue that seemed to peer right through her. The boom of thunder and the pitter-patter of the rain easily concealed her heart thundering in her chest. She placed his green undershirt in his hands. "Try to keep it dry, if ya can. And, umm.. You can call me Bonnie."

Barnes rubbed the back of his neck, cracking a slight smirk. "G'night, Bonnie." He stumbled out into the darkness and let the cool, heavy raindrops wash over him.


End file.
